Melancholy
by Siancore
Summary: ON HIATUS Children have gone missing in King County, GA. Sheriff's Deputy Rick Grimes has been on the case; he's enlisted the help of the FBI. He's doing his best to ensure no one else is hurt, but his family life is suffering because of his dedication to work. What will this case cost him? Who will be there to bring him back after he stares into the face of tragedy and melancholy.
1. Chapter 1

Melancholy

Disclaimer: I do not own the Walking Dead or Criminal Minds.

A/N: An idea I had, it's a Criminal Minds and TWD AU crossover with some Richonne goodness! Yep, that's a lot to take in, but please, give it a look. What I like about both shows is that even in the face of overwhelming darkness, those little moments of levity and hope shine through and I appreciate them more for it. I don't know if this will be well received, I wrote it mainly for my best mate who adores both shows. Also, I was tired and in a pretty dark mood when I wrote it, but I thought I might share. Anyways, here we go. Enjoy!

Warning: strong adult content; implied violence against children

* * *

It had already been a week since the young boy went missing, and Sheriff's Deputy Rick Grimes was beginning to feel his hope at finding the child alive slipping away. The King County Sheriff's Department was ill-equipped to deal with the disappearance of the boy, and because this was the fourth abduction that had happened in the past four months, he thought that they should get the FBI's Behavioural Analysis Unit involved. Rick sent a request through to the BAU's headquarters in Quantico, VA, detailing the abductions and the short timeframe in which they had occurred; he was convinced they had a serial on their hands. Four African American boys aged between 12 and 14 had gone missing from schoolyards and playgrounds; no remains had been discovered. The FBI had sent a team of profilers down to assist and the case was finally beginning to receive media coverage. The Sheriff's Department was inundated with people working around the clock; Rick Grimes was doing all that he could. While the FBI built their profile of the unknown subject, the Sheriff's Department focussed on casing the local area that they were familiar with; working on the tip line and doing much of the leg work.

"So," started Supervisory Special Agent Derek Morgan. "Four black kids go missing, and we've only just been called in now? Is that how things are done around here, in backwoods Georgia?"

"Morgan, it's a small Department. Officer Grimes seems like a decent man, I'm sure he tried, I'm sure they did all that they could. They're just not fitted out to deal with serial abductions. And besides, we're here now, let's make it count," said SSA Hotchner, fully aware that a lot of time had been wasted already. They knew that the likelihood of finding a child alive forty-eight hours after an abduction decreased. The fact that the unsub had taken three others since the first abduction could easily have meant that the other children were already dead. They had to focus their efforts on finding this young boy. Looking at the gap in between abductions, Hotch knew that they still had more time to find young Duane, the most recent child to go missing. If the unsub was abducting children at the start of the month, he had three or so weeks to hold them captive until the time he needed to grab another child. Hotch estimated that Duane had three weeks to live.

It was almost nine o'clock in the morning, and Rick Grimes still had not called his wife to let her know he would be late yet again that night. Their relationship was already strained to begin with, now that he was hardly ever home, it only proved to make things more difficult.

"Hey, Lori, it's me," he said tiredly into the telephone. "I'm gonna be late comin' home again tonight. I can't say too much, but there might be a break in the case, so it's all hands on deck."

"Okay," she answered quietly. "Guess we'll see you in the morning. Goodnight."

Before he could respond, the phone was already hung up.

_Christ!_ He thought. _She's angry at me again_, c_an't seem to please anyone lately._

He couldn't understand what more she wanted from him; he was just trying to do his best, to do right by everyone. Rick felt like he was in a perpetual battle of trying to please people. His wife; his kids; the people of his County; his superiors; old Barry Rudd at the grocery store. Yes, he was neglecting his duties as a husband and father, but that was the cost of doing this job. If it were Carl missing, Rick would want to make sure that the authorities were doing all that they could to try to find his son. It was his duty to the people of the County; he had to give one hundred percent.

She smiled as she approached the weary looking man in front of her. Rick looked as if he had seen better days; his beard made his face look like it was losing the war. He was seated at a table in the conference room, sorting through case files with someone she only slightly recognized, they may have been introduced earlier in the day, she thought. Yes, they had met earlier; it was an FBI agent. He was a gangly looking white guy, maybe in his early thirties, unkempt hair, and kind of good looking if, you liked that sort of thing.

"Hey there," she said in a friendly tone.

Rick looked up and a smile came across his face.

"Oh, hey Michonne. How are ya?"

He took in her appearance; she was wearing a black suit with a mid-length skirt, heels and a blue blouse, her hair was tied back into a ponytail; ever the cosmopolitan professional, even in this small town. He could not help but admit she was a fine looking woman. He often felt guilty about his gratuitous attentions toward her. They were friends and colleagues and he was married. He felt guilty. _She was just so…_

"I'm well, thanks. You've looked better. I got your message, came straight over. What do you need me to do?"

Rick, still preoccupied with ogling Michonne, missed her question.

"Ah, sorry. What'd you say? It's been a long day."

She smiled at him and repeated her question.

"Oh, right. Well I'm following up on locations that Duane might have been taken to; need a judge to sign a warrant _right now_ so we can check out the old Reynold's place down Cedar Road. Can you sort that for me? Please?"

She nodded.

"Of course, Rick. Whatever you need."

She then proceeded to reach into her bag, retrieve her cell phone and go through her contacts list. He twisted his wedding band on his finger as he watched her, she appeared completely confident that she would be able to help him; Rick could always rely on her, ever since she had moved to the County over two years ago to be closer to her ailing grandmother, she had been an excellent colleague and friend to him. Always trusted his judgement and somehow understood the weight that he carried being a parent and a professional officer of the law. Michonne pressed the phone to her ear, shot Rick another smile and began to speak.

"Hello, Amanda? So sorry for the late call. Is Judge Tarly available? Thank you..." she nodded to Rick and a relieved expression played on her face.

"Hi, Uncle Lawrence, it's Michonne."

…..

"You can pick the warrant up on the way. I hope you find what you're looking for. Gosh, I hope there's a break soon," she said, a sombre mood washing over her.

"Hey, thank you so much," he said in a hushed tone, weariness in his voice. "I appreciate it, really."

Rick stood and placed a hand on Michonne's shoulder: "I'll see you later."

With that, Rick grabbed his hat and rushed out of the room. Michonne felt some hope rising up inside her; they actually had a shot at finding the boy alive, the other three, she thought dismayed, were probably not so lucky.

"He likes you," came a voice, and it startled Michonne. It was the gangly profiler who had abruptly spoken.

"Excuse me?" was her reply.

"The Deputy, he's attracted to you."

"You sat there the whole time, not sayin' anything and then you just throw something like that out in the open?"

"Well, yes. You see, it's what I do. I observe people; I take notice of people, of their behaviour, it's a main feature of the behavioural sciences. I actually..."

"Reid. Seriously. Leave the lady alone," interrupted another man as he entered the conference room where they were sitting; a tall good looking black guy, another FBI agent, Michonne realized.

"I have to apologize for my colleague, ma'am. What Dr Reid lacks in social skills, he makes up for in socially awkward banter," he smirked and flashed her a bright smile. Michonne found herself chuckling and grinning back at him.

"I don't believe we've met. I'm SSA Derek Morgan, you can call me Derek," he said smoothly, as he offered his hand to her. She took it, showing him a coy grin that he found to be extremely adorable.

"Michonne. Pleased to meet you. I'm the County Prosecutor. Just came over to help Officer Grimes with something..."

"Well, he's a lucky man then," he said, giving Michonne the once over. She did not miss it.

Reid, watching the exchange rolled his eyes.

"Give it a rest, Morgan. Like I said, the Deputy is interested in her."

"Hold up," said Michonne, turning to Reid. "How can you know that? You know what, never mind. I am not having this conversation right now."

She began to feel a little flustered and confused at the way these obviously nice, but odd agents were behaving. She stood and began to walk toward the door.

"His wedding ring," said Dr Reid, causing her to stop in her tracks. "When he was talking to you, he was playing with his wedding ring. It means he is attracted to you, but he is reminded that he has a wife."

"Wow," said Michonne, astounded at the young man's frankness, and a little embarrassed that someone would point out what she had already suspected, that Rick Grimes did look at her differently and had some kind of interest in her. If she was being completely honest with herself, she did not mind.

"Thanks for that, Dr Reid, is it? It just made my evening very awkward."

At that, she laughed a little, bid them goodnight and headed home.

xXxXx

Rick Grimes and his partner Shane Walsh approached the old, decrepit house at the end of the eerily darkened Cedar Road. They had received a call to the tip line that evening, a voice at the other end stated that they had seen something strange at the premises, after paying an impromptu visit to check out some of the old wiring in the shed for the owner, an electrician had noticed that, on the clothesline out back, hung items of children's clothing. Boy's clothing, to be exact. Rick recalled Shane asking him _yeah, so? What's so strange about that? _What was indeed strange was that no one had actually _lived_ at that house for over ten years. The owner still had the gas and electricity maintained, but no one _lived_ there. No one wanted to live there, ever since they found that woman's body there all those years ago, but that was another story.

Rick led the way around to the backyard, and not surprisingly, there were no items on the clothesline at the present time. Both men had their side arms drawn in a precautionary manner. Shane walked up the back steps and tried the doorknob; it was unlocked, so, shining his flashlight, he made his way inside.

"King County Sheriff's Department!" he called into the darkened room.

No answer. He pointed for Rick to enter and, after doing so, Rick made his way through the kitchen and cracked the door to the living area open while Shane cleared the laundry room that was adjoining the small kitchen.

"Clear," Rick offered and Shane entered the room and cleared two tiny bedrooms side-by-side.

That was the entire house, small and cold. At first, the area looked like one would expect. Old furniture covered by dusty sheets, dark and almost ghostlike. It had a strange scent, like the smell from a rarely opened closet. They used their flashlights to scan the room. Once Rick and Shane's eyes had adjusted properly to the murkiness, what they saw next shocked them and forced the very breath from their bodies. Shane turned on one of the light switches that illuminated the room, just to be sure. Lined up on the floor, tucked neatly into white sheets were the remains of three children. Shane swore and cursed to the heavens above as he kicked one of the armchairs; Rick dropped to one knee and placed his face in his hands as he held back a feeling of nausea and sadness.

"I'll call it in," was all Shane could muster, as he walked by Rick and patted his shoulder.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own the Walking Dead or Criminal Minds.

A/N: Thanks for the reviews, they are always appreciated. This instalment is very much focussed on Rick and his turmoil at failing to save the children; his strained relationship with Lori; as well as dealing with his not-so-honourable attraction toward his friend and colleague, Michonne.

Warning: strong adult content; implied violence against children

Rick Grimes sat on a felled tree stump in the backyard of the small, dilapidated house. Darkness surrounded him, save for the flashing lights of the official looking law enforcement vehicles. There were officers, agents, medical examiners and crime scene technicians everywhere; their voices sounded muffled as the pounding in Rick's head became louder. A deep sadness had overcome him as he watched them bring the small bodies out of the house, one-by-one, and placed them in the Coroner's van. Rick pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, pursed his lips and waited. They were around the same age as his young son, Carl; he knew one of them went to school with Carl. He felt a wave of despair crashing over him as he thought of the sorrow that their parents would have been going through; the uncertainty of not knowing where your child was, if they were dead or alive. _And now, this horrible discovery._ He could not even begin to conceive what it would be like to be given that knock on the door.

In all of his time as a police officer, Rick Grimes had never come across the body of a murdered child; let alone _three_ bodies. He was still in shock and waiting for someone from the FBI to come and debrief him. He glanced around the crime scene; people everywhere, all of them appeared to be moving slower than they really were. A figure began to approach him; the throbbing in his temple caused him to squint as he tried to discern who it was. _Shane._

"Hey, man, how you holdin' up?" Asked Rick's partner, in a concerned manner.

"Been better, I can tell ya that much. You?" Was Rick's reply. Shane squatted down next to him and absentmindedly tugged at the overgrown blades of grass.

"I hear ya. I'm okay, I guess. Just not used to this. You feelin' up to informing the parents? The feds said they could do it, but you been on the case longest, thought it best to ask you first."

Rick nodded to his friend.

"Yeah, I'm just waitin' to talk to Hotchner about our debriefing. Shouldn't be too much longer now." He said quietly as he scanned the surrounds looking for the agent who would talk them through what needed doing since they had made the grisly discovery. A man with dark hair and a nice suit approached the two Deputies, a stern look on his face. He dipped his head to them in greeting.

"Officer Grimes, Officer Walsh. Thank you for waiting. I know it's been a long night and this discovery hasn't been easy to stomach, but I need just a few more minutes of your time, if that's okay?" Hotch asked respectfully. The men nodded and continued to listen to the Agent.

"I understand you wanted to inform the parents personally?" He asked, looking from Rick to Shane.

Rick exhaled loudly, furrowing his brow. "Yes sir, I know a couple of the parents. It's best that we go and see 'em, I think."

Hotch nodded in understanding and agreement.

"Did you need to speak to me and my partner afterwards?" Rick continued, looking tired.

"It's pretty late now. I'm sending my agents back to the motel to get some rest, after you inform the parents, I advise you both do the same. We're going to look through the house tomorrow after the CSU is done. The Medical Examiner will inspect the bodies tonight, so we should have the ME's report by late morning. We can debrief first thing. I want to have SSA Morgan do a cognitive interview with you both, if that's alright?" Hotch asked, half expecting them to ask what the interview actually entailed. He did not imagine they would have undertaken many, if any at all any in their professional lives.

"What do we have to do?" Asked Shane.

"It's simple," began Hotch. "You both recall what you remember about approaching the crime scene independently."

"To see if our stories match or somethin'?" Shane interrupted

"No." Was Hotch's answer. "It's more to run through everything, even the smallest thing you remember or noticed; this is to help us to build a more comprehensive picture of the scene, other than the photographs that CSU give us. We'll ask you to try to remember smells, objects, anything that may seem trivial. It all helps."

The Deputies both nodded. They were not always too sure of the methods that the BAU used, but they were willing to do whatever they could to catch the killer and ensure that the fourth child, Duane, was brought home safely.

Rick Grimes dropped his partner Shane back at the Sheriff's Department. They were both taking separate vehicles to the homes of the victims' families to deliver the bad news. This was one of the worst aspects of the job for Rick; having to tell a family that their loved one had died, which was made worse by the fact that the victims seem to have been murdered. While he appreciated that the FBI were trying to help, to lighten the load to some degree, he knew that he and his partner would have to deliver the dreadful news. They lived in this community; it was their job to protect the people here. Rick felt as if they had failed tonight. They had failed their community, the victims' families, and above all, the victims themselves. Those three little souls whose lives were cut short before they even had a chance to really _live_; the three children lying on the cold hard slabs on this night.

Rick brought the car to a stop, breathed in and out deeply and rubbed his hands over his weary eyes. He glanced over to the charming white two-storey house that belonged to the Staker family. Their son TJ was the first child to be abducted from his school and was in the same grade as Carl. Rick used to see Greg Staker, TJ's father at the junior baseball league games sometimes at the weekends, when he had the time to go; they used to speak amiably in the queue at the bank on occasion; and lately he was at the Sheriff's Department every other day since his child went missing. Rick would often sit with him briefly, offer him coffee and listen to him painfully try to make sense of everything that had happened. His marriage had ended badly, he told Rick. He and his wife Janice had not been able to deal with their son's disappearance; each blaming one another for him going missing and it tore their family apart. She had been staying with her parents and he remained at the family home, holding out hope that TJ would just walk through the door one day. That it had all just been one big joke; that TJ was hiding in his room like he used to when his parents would argue.

Rick's steps sounded too loud as he walked up the path toward the Staker's home; he felt like the sound was announcing his arrival and was intruding on the calmness and quiet of the evening. He tried to tread lightly as he stepped onto the porch and moved to the front door. Rick closed his eyes, tilted his head back and wiped the quickly accumulating sweat from his brow. He swallowed hard as he pressed a trembling finger to the doorbell. It cut through the silence of the night as loudly as the ringing in Rick's ears was.

It was 2 o'clock in the morning when he finally made it home. Rick fumbled with his front door keys as he stood in the darkness outside of his house. He noticed that Lori had not left he porch light on for him. She probably had not expected him back so late, he thought, a little disappointed that he was coming home without having a single member of his family awake to greet him yet again. He resigned himself to the fact that it was his fault; he worked too much, too hard and never made time for them. His daughter barely knew him, his son was forever annoyed with him and his wife resented him. But at least he had a family to come home to; children to come home to. Some people, he thought sadly, were not so lucky.

Rick stepped into the darkened hallway before turning on a light; he was immediately reminded of what he and Shane had witnessed when that light had been switched on at the house down Cedar Rd. He shuddered slightly at the thought of their little lifeless bodies lined up on the floor. He extinguished the hallway light and opted for the warm, dim lighting of the lamp that sat on the cabinet in the living room. Rick tossed his hat onto the armchair and kicked off his boots. He removed his belt, holster and side arm and placed them in a draw of the cabinet. Undid the buttons on his shirt, removed it and let it fall to the floor before collapsing to the couch. He closed his eyes, hoping that he would immediately drift off into a deep sleep; he felt tired enough. Yet that was not to be the case; images of the three dead boys invaded his mind. Rick opened his eyes quickly and cursed under his breath. He sat up, ran his fingers through his hair then stood and made his way toward the kitchen. He found the bottle of whiskey that he had been nursing for the better part of a month tucked behind a box of Corn Flakes in one of the top cupboards. Rick poured a generous amount into a coffee mug that had "World's Greatest Dad" written on it in bright red letters. He let the harsh liquid course down his throat as he swallowed it in one swift motion. He returned the bottle back to its place, and ambled slowly back into the living room; turning off the lamp before sliding listlessly on to the couch.

When Rick Grimes finally fell asleep, he was tormented by vivid dreams: _he was running, his bare feet hitting the ground hard and his legs aching; his breath short and his heart beating rapidly. He was struggling to move faster, a strong, unseen force pressing against his body so potently that he knew if he tried to lean forward, it would keep him standing upright, torpid, inert. It was dark and cold and he recognized a house with a small glow escaping from the windows. He ran to the front door and it swung open as if to welcome him inside. He froze when he saw the three bodies lying on the floor in a line, covered by a single white sheet. He trembled as he walked closer to where they were laid out. His hand shook as he reached for and took hold of the corner of the sheet. Slowly, he drew the sheet away from the secrets it was hiding; what was revealed to him made him fall backwards in shock. There were no longer three bodies under the sheet, just the one. When he saw the child's face, it resembled that of his own young son, Carl. _

Rick awoke from his nightmare with a start; eyes wide, gasping for air and drenched in sweat. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he tried to regain some composure. His mouth felt dry and his heart was racing a little too quickly. He was still tired, his body was ever so tired; but he now felt wide awake, unsure of if he even wanted to fall back into sleep so that he could be haunted by horrific visions again. Rick lay in the dimly lit room for a moment as he steadied his heart rate and breathing. He tried to calm and clear his mind as he focussed on inhaling and exhaling slowly and deeply. Almost ten minutes had passed when he reached into the darkness to the side table near his head. He was searching for his cell phone that he had previously placed there, without looking at it, to check the time; it was 4:30am. He sighed, feeling somewhat irritable and emotionally drained. He then noticed that he had 2 unread text messages. The first was a missed call notification from home logged at 6:47pm; the second was from Michonne and was sent at 10:15pm. Rick felt his heart beat speed up again, and a flurry of what he could only liken to excitement rise from his stomach when he saw her name appear on his screen as he squinted to focus his eyes: _Hey Rick, pls let me know if you find anything tonite. Take care. Thanks, M. _J

A smile.

Rick found himself reading the message more than once and staring at her name. He liked the way her name looked, how it sounded and how it felt when he said it out loud: _Michonne. _A sigh escaped his mouth once more as a feeling of guilt crept over him. He was doing it again, giving in to the attraction that he knew he felt towards her; the attraction that he tried so very hard to deny, to push to the back of his mind. It was easy to see why he was enticed by Michonne; she was strong, exotic, intelligent, witty and mysterious. He also did not miss the fact that she was very beautiful and had an amazing physique. Her body was wonderful, he thought; Rick sometimes let his eyes roam over her luscious curves when he thought no one was looking. He could not help it, even though he felt bad for coveting his friend like that, felt badly for looking at a woman other than his wife, he still, from time to time, indulged himself. Presently, he shook his head, as if trying to shake the thought of Michonne wearing the most excruciatingly delicious formfitting dress from his mind's eye. He really needed to snap out of it; his attentions needed to be focussed on his family and his work.

Rick opened her text message again, ready to send a reply. He wanted to say something like, _please don't send me anymore messages, especially at night, it's distracting and I can't stop smiling like a fool and I shouldn't be thinking about you this way when my wife is upstairs sleeping by herself_; or _can you please do your job and I'll do mine and, even though you work at the Courthouse which is next door to where I work and I see you nearly every day, can you please not come around so much and also please don't smile at me that way that you do because it makes me feel weak. _

He began to type a response to her message into his phone: S_orry for late reply. Long night. Bad news. Drop by office tomorrow &amp; I'll fill you in._

Lori Grimes awoke to an empty bed, she knew where her husband would be; sleeping on the couch. Recently, when he had worked late, he had become accustomed to taking up the couch for the night. In the beginning, she did not really know why, and when she asked Rick about it, he simply said that he didn't want to wake her when he came in at some ungodly hour. He was always honest and straightforward, she could see no cause to doubt his reason; she knew him to be a considerate and caring man. Still, she found it annoying that he would prefer to sleep alone after a rough night, than with her in their bed. She had wondered briefly if her husband was having an affair; the long hours coupled with the distance between them made her think that it could have been a possibility. She had not gotten around to making an accusation against him; their marriage was already rocky at the present time, and she thought it best not to blatantly accuse him of cheating.

It was quiet at their breakfast table that morning. Judith sat in her highchair eating pieces of toast that Rick had cut into tiny squares for her. He hastily drank his coffee, even though it was still quite hot, burning and numbing the inside of his mouth simultaneously. He looked somewhat dishevelled and tired in his work uniform. He sat quietly watching his daughter eat and make baby talk.

"What time did you get in?" Asked Lori flatly, she had wanted to ask him as soon as he walked into the kitchen, but let him get settled first.

Rick trained his gaze on her, screwed his face up a little, and rubbed his red eyes.

"I dunno. Maybe about 2 o'clock. Was a long, bad night." He said, staring off into space, an aloof expression covering him.

"Can't you cut back now that the FBI is involved?" She asked; he was a little taken aback that she did not ask him what had made his night a bad one. "We've hardly seen you these past few months."

Rick frowned, he knew where this was going; an argument about his long hours and how he neglects his family.

"It just ain't a good time…" He started.

"It's never a good time, Rick!" She exclaimed. He could hear the irritated tone of her voice.

"Sometimes I wonder if you even care about us at all!" She spat, Rick looked up in disbelief at her cruel words just in time to see Carl standing in the doorway. He had heard their exchange and hastily retreated back up to his bedroom.

"Those kids, the ones who went missin', we found three of 'em last night. Me and Shane, walked right up to this house and there they were and…"

"That's great!" She said sarcastically. "It means you can spend more time with us, doesn't it? You know, worry about your own kids for once." She said, staring him down.

Rick sighed, rolled his eyes and stood, ready to depart, almost too tired to argue, but then he stopped and addressed his wife.

"Lori, you gotta let me finish. Those kids, we found 'em alright, but we were too late. They were dead. I had to go and tell 2 families last night that we'd found their little boys dead. Can you imagine what that's like? What it was like for them last night? The past few months? You sit here all high and mighty and scream at me and accuse me of not carin'. I do what I do to keep y'all safe, to keep this community safe. I won't apologize for that. I am sorry that it's taken me away from you and the kids, I really am, but don't ever try to make me feel bad about trying to make this place safe."

With that, Rick kissed Judith on the top of her head and walked away.

Rick stepped into the Sheriff's Department to find that the BAU team was already there, set up in the conference room. Hotchner and the other Agents greeted Rick as he observed Dr Reid writing something in large, messy handwriting onto the whiteboard.

"What's this?" Rick asked SSA Morgan, gesturing to the writing that Reid had just finished.

"CSU found it scrawled on the walls of the Cedar Rd house last night. Was freshly done, so was most likely the unsub."

Rick read it carefully then furrowed his brow as he contemplated what it could have meant.

_Genesis 18:19 For I have chosen him, that he may command his children and his household after him to keep the way of the Lord by doing righteousness and justice…_

A/N: I initially started to write this for my pregnant friend who is on bed rest and bored out of her brain. She said to share it, and I'm glad I did as it was well received. Thank you all for the positive feedback, I really wasn't too sure about doing a crossover because I appreciate both series in their own right. The characters are just too good and can expand the dialogue and storyline. Having said that, I do want to focus more on TWD characters and their interactions. Also, I think to make a story good you have to not only explore the characters, but have a solid plotline, which I hope I can further develop here. I started reading crime novels when I was 11 years old, so the genre has always been dear to me (although this is my first time writing any). Thanks for reading and reviewing.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own the Walking Dead or Criminal Minds

A/N: Wow, thanks so much for the flattering reviews and messages; I truly am happy that readers are enjoying my story.

Some responses:

KyannaLashae: Thank you, you're too kind. When I visualise the story in my mind's eye, it plays out like a television episode for some reason.

Alex311: Thank you for always making nice remarks about, not only my stories but my writing in general. I am happy to share my talents, I'm just glad that you appreciate me sharing!

literaturechick: Glad you're enjoying the details; I wanted the small details to resonate the mood of the story and I'm happy you noticed them!

Lanie_love: My sentiments exactly, he is dedicated yet anguished. It's not an easy job, but someone has to take up the mantle and who better than Rick Grimes?

: I too am glad you took the chance to read my story! Thanks for your vote of confidence. P.S. I love Richonne too!

Warning: strong adult content; implied violence against children; graphic depictions of human remains.

* * *

Sheriff's Deputy Rick Grimes had just finished his cognitive interview with Supervisory Special Agent Derek Morgan. The mood of the Sheriff's Department was a sombre one; a room full of crime fighters with sad faces and heavy hearts. The two men, still sitting in the small, dull interview room, talked quietly about what Rick had recalled from the scene and what it could mean. SSA Morgan specialized in the unhealthy fixations and obsessions of criminals, but before he went to the FBI and the BAU he was a police officer in Chicago. He always liked talking to the police officers in all of the places his team visited. He understood what it was like to do the job that they did, to remain in the communities that had been rocked by devastating events such as the one they were dealing with at the present time, when the likes of the FBI could pack-up and leave after a case was solved. Morgan not only understood them, but he respected them as well; after all, his father was a cop too.

"So," started Derek Morgan, a seriousness to his gaze. "You haven't seen anything like this before, uh?"

Rick shook his head. "No sir. Don't get to see too much of anything around these parts."

"You grew up here?" The Agent asked, genuinely interested in what the Deputy had to say.

"Close by, out on a farm not too far away; lived here all my life. Only moved from here to go to the academy. It's strange, people move out to the country for the serenity and safety. They think all of the miles between us and the city is gonna protect them, their kids. They think the city walls keep all the bad guys in; and the fences of our farms keep out the ones that get away. Then somethin' like this goes and happens, to kids no less. I often wonder what this world is comin' to." He said, looking contemplative and dejected.

Morgan nodded in agreement. He knew from personal experience that those who worked in law enforcement dealt with a lot and had seen a lot; they had seen the worst that humanity has to offer. They saw people's misery; people's vulnerability.

"You see a lot of this, Agent Morgan? Lots of kids dyin'? Bein' killed?" Asked Rick, staring at the wall.

He nodded to Rick. "Yeah man, I've seen too many kids die. And ya know how our job, as profilers, is to explain it all away? The whole 'why did they do it?' question? In all my training and workin' these types of cases, I still don't know why, not really. Like the interview we just did, you know how you said they were tucked into the sheets, not just covered? Those boys?"

"Yeah" Answered Rick as he turned to face the Agent who was slouched into the swivel chair opposite him. He had become intrigued as to where Morgan was going with his explanation.

"Well, that tells us that the unsub 'cared' for them; felt some kind of remorse about what he did to them."

Rick shook his head, listening intently to what SSA Morgan was telling him.

"But the ME's report said that they were all at different stages of decomp; killed recently, but at different times and all suffocated. Tell me this, Rick; if you care for someone, how can you hurt them over and over again, especially a child?"

Rick offered Morgan a look of complete bewilderment.

"That, I do not know." He replied, and then his face was overcome with a serious and concentrated countenance as he pondered the reasons why someone would wittingly hurt people they claimed to care about.

"Maybe he was doin' it because he _had _to, not 'cause he wanted to." Rick finally answered quietly.

Morgan looked at Rick and an expression of realization came over him.

"You know what? I think you're right."

With that, Morgan stood, as did Rick and both men swiftly exited the interview room.

_For I have chosen him, that he may command his children and his household after him to keep the way of the Lord by doing righteousness and justice…_

Rick Grimes stared at the photographs from the house down Cedar Rd; there, scrawled upon the stained wall was that passage from the Book of Genesis. While Rick was raised in the church, he was not, by any means, a practicing Christian; he did however, spend much of his time as a child at Sunday school and had some knowledge of the Scripture. He hoped that they were not dealing with some religious zealot who was killing children to make a point. When he thought about it further, he really did not think that it would be the case; while the person was probably religious in some way, he did not feel they were in any way trying to make a statement. _Honestly, _he thought bitterly, _what kind of statement does the killing of three boys make?_

Most of the BAU team were in the conference room working the profile with the additional information that they had been given from the Crime Scene Unit, Medical Examiner and the cognitive interviews that Morgan had undertaken with Rick and Shane. They had ascertained that the children had been murdered by suffocation; the Medical Examiner had determined that the bruising around their mouths and trace fibres was consistent with having a pillow placed over their faces. TJ Staker was deceased the longest, and while his body had begun to decompose, it was well preserved, most likely in a walk-in freezer or the like; something large enough to hold the remains of three people and persist at a cool and a constant temperature.

There were no signs of undernourishment or physical and sexual abuse, the ME had concluded. Aside from being murdered, the children seemed to be physically well taken care of. It was agreed upon that the Cedar Rd residence was not the scene of the murders, but the dump site. The unsub had kept the children at another site, purportedly killed them there, stored them somewhere discrete and then moved them to the place where Officers Grimes and Walsh had found them. They were stripped bare, their bodies had been washed, and they were tucked into three separate sheets and lined up on the floor. The agents and officers realized that the clothing that was seen hanging on the clothesline by the witness was the victims' clothing; the unsub had washed the bodies, then the clothes and took the items with him when he left. He could've been in the house when the witness was there checking the wiring. The witness had been tracked down and was in an interrogation with Supervisory Special Agent David Rossi as the others spoke; he was being cooperative and Rossi did not like him for the murders, said he did not fit the profile.

Rick and Shane made their way into the conference room; both looked to be at different points of disarray. Shane seemed to be remedying his situation with cup after cup of coffee. Rick was still upset from his argument with Lori and his thoughts were scattered presently. He was lethargic and felt sick. The constant throbbing in his head was made worse when he tried too hard to concentrate on the task at hand. The day had not yet approached noon, and already felt too long to him. Hotchner stood in front of the group of law enforcement officers and announced to them in a self-assured manner.

"We're almost ready to give the profile, please go grab something to drink or have a cigarette break until Dave's finished with the witness. Thank you."

Shane got up from where he was seated and looked at Rick. He noted that his partner had obviously had little sleep the previous night, and he imagined it had been very much the same for the past few months also. Shane asked Rick if he wanted anything to drink, Rick could only shake his head and say "No thank you."

"From the evidence collected and the interviews that have been conducted, we believe the unknown subject or unsub is an African American male, aged in his late-forties. This is because of the organizational skills and physical strength that it took to subdue and keep more than one child hostage at a time, and by the way he arranged the bodies at the dump site. The act of tucking the children into the sheets is a sign of remorse and indicates that the unsub believed that he cared for them; he may very have also known the children personally. " Stated Hotch.

"Why a black guy? So we're not lookin' at a hate crime?" Asked Shane.

"Officer Walsh, serial killers don't usually deviate from their own racial groups. The fact that the victims are all African American leads us to believe the unsub is as well."

Shane nodded and let the BAU continue delivering the profile.

"We need to focus on middle-aged men who are not physically threatening or imposing, someone who you would trust your children with. He looks like a regular guy. He will be, or would have been a father. Something will have happened in his life, a stressor or trigger that set him on this path." Dr Reid continued.

"What about the Bible quote?" Asked Shane. "What does that mean? Are we dealin' with a religious nut? Does he really think these kids are 'chosen' by God?"

Before Dr Reid could move to answer, Rick interjected.

"Nah, I don't think he thinks _they're_ chosen. You see that passage, that's one of the few times in the Bible that you get to see what God is thinking, ya know, like it's his ideas about what he reckons is righteous."

Reid nodded hastily, thoroughly impressed with Rick's interpretation.

"Yes, yes. Officer Grimes is exactly right. The wider verse begins with 'The Lord said…' and so, God was asking himself if he should let Abraham know of his intentions for him; he was pondering this conundrum. He knew Abraham would be righteous, but would it be of any use to let him know this? Are the self-aware any more righteous than those that live in oblivion? The unsub sees himself as Abraham; he believes _he_ was chosen, not the boys. He is chosen by God to teach them about righteousness."

Shane threw a surprised glance at Rick, who returned his astonishment with a smug, albeit weak smile.

Rick Grimes sat at his desk poring over countless case files and witness testimonials. While the BAU were adamant that the unsub would not have a criminal record and that these murders were most likely his first, Rick still needed to do something, needed to look somewhere. Yes, they had been given the profile, and now it was a matter of trying to find a suspect that actually fit it. His eyelids felt heavy and his eyes stung from lack of sleep. His lips felt parched and his throat dry. The ticking of the clock that hung high up on the wall seemed like a hammer repeatedly striking at an anvil; the pounding in his head felt much the same. He was so very tempted to go into one of the empty rooms and try to sleep, but he knew they had to work the case. If they had more people working in the King County Sheriff's Department, maybe he could have taken 20 minutes to rest awhile; but this wasn't a television show like Law &amp; Order, they did not get to take breaks.

He placed his face in his hands as he closed his eyes momentarily. He did not even notice that she had approached him until he felt her hand on his shoulder. It startled him, shook him from his micro sleep and brought him back to his stark reality. He turned and offered her a faded smile as she walked to the opposite side of his desk and sat down, wearing a sad expression.

"Hey you." She said, studying his weary face, a gentle countenance adorning her own. "I'm sorry it had to be you that found them. That couldn't have been easy."

Rick nodded knowingly. He appreciated the sentiment. He sat quietly, unsure of what to say. The compassion in her eyes made him feel something he could not explain. He felt calm, as strange as that sounded, considering what was happening all around him. He also felt relieved that she understood him, that she understood that none of this was easy on him.

"You look like Hell, Rick." Michonne said quietly. "How much sleep have you had?"

He smiled at her faintly and ran his fingers through his hair, as if trying to make himself appear less tired and bedraggled.

"Not much at all actually. Got home pretty late, had to inform the families. Even then I couldn't doze off, just kept picturin' 'em, just lyin' there. Was horrible. When I did finally sleep, I had bad dreams." He offered, not at all self-conscious about holding her gaze and not at all surprised how easy it was for him to open up to Michonne and tell her his troubles. She nodded slightly, acknowledging his torment.

"It _will_ get better," she said quietly. "Just don't dwell on it too much. Don't beat yourself up over things you can't control or change."

He felt a heaviness lifted from his being just from speaking with Michonne. He felt less lethargic, and a little more at ease than he had before. Her presence, her tone, and the certainty she radiated; it all helped Rick to feel calm and serene. His face softened as he leaned back into his chair, resting on his left arm and tilting his head.

"Have you spoken to anyone about it? You know, like a debriefing? I mean, it's helpful. I'm certain it could help."

He let out a small chuckle and said, "I'm talkin' to you, ain't I? Unless you're a dream too and I'm just sittin' here talkin' to myself." He beamed at her now, his whole demeanour changed then and the mood became lighter.

She smiled at him and let out a small chortle of her own. Rick could be so unknowingly adorable at times. _Tread carefully,_ she reminded herself. She knew it was dangerous when he was playful with her like that; when he smiled at her like that. When she let herself become drawn in by his charm and good looks; but she was feeling brave.

"I'm sure you don't dream of me, Officer Grimes." She said, in a flirtatious way, hoping to lighten the mood a little more and fooling herself into thinking that was all she trying to do. "I'm not the most exciting person to dream about at any rate." She continued, almost timidly.

Rick shifted in his seat and sat up straight, eyes still locked on to her. He grinned and went to respond just as SSA Hotchner and Derek Morgan approached his desk.

"Excuse us, Officer Grimes, ma'am." Hotch said as he addressed Rick. "May we speak privately? It won't take too long." He asked.

"Of course." Rick replied and apologetically glanced at Michonne and said, "Excuse me."

She nodded as Derek Morgan sat atop Rick's desk and said, beaming a wide smile at Michonne.

"Not to worry, Rick. I'll keep her company for a lil' while." She returned his smile and shyly motioned to the chair next to her for Derek to take. Rick observed them and tried to shake off the perplexing feeling of envy as he followed Hotch.

Rick walked slowly to area where his desk was after his conversation with Aaron Hotchner. Immediately he saw Michonne smiling and laughing softly with Derek Morgan; their body language was slightly more open than Rick felt comfortable with. He rolled his eyes and felt his annoyance at what Hotch had just told him intensify when he saw the easy and friendly exchange that was occurring between Michonne and Morgan. The FBI Agent could switch it on and off, he thought. He was not contaminating everyone else's mood with his own foul one, like Rick was. He could function under this pressure. He could compartmentalise everything that was happening. Rick felt like a tired, old cop who hadn't hugged his kids in days and was stuck in a bad marriage. He returned to his swivel chair and leaned on his desk in frustration, staring down at the pile of case files.

"Rick?" She asked, "Everything okay?" Her voice faded as he thought back to the discussion he had just had with SSA Hotchner…

"What do you know about Morgan Jones?" Asked Hotch, seriousness in his tone and his expression.

"Morgan? He's Duane's father."

"Has anyone from your Department spoken to him since Duane went missing?"

"My partner did; he questioned him about the disappearance last week. No one has seen or heard from him since."

"Duane didn't live with his father, did he? He was in state care?"

"That's right, until an aunt showed up and filed for legal guardianship. His daddy lost custody not too long ago. You like him for the abduction?" Rick asked as he furrowed his brow.

"It's a feasible possibility." Replied Hotch. "We have to be realistic that when there's custody issues in play and a child goes missing, that it was most likely a family member who took them. Duane's abduction might not even be linked to the original abductions. We've definitely seen it before. Cops looking in the wrong place for a child when the child is half-way across the country with their parent."

"So, are we just gonna give up on finding him?" Asked a concerned Rick.

"No, not at all. But we have to consider that Duane may not have been a target like the other victims. He was a little younger than them, and his remains weren't found with theirs."

Rick did not seem entirely convinced, the abduction timeline certainly matched that of the other victims.

"Has Morgan Jones come into the station since Duane went missing?"

Rick shook his head. "No."

"Most parents of missing children never want to leave the police station, right? You know that yourself, Rick. The fact that Morgan Jones hasn't been here once could mean one of two things: he has taken his son and is on his way to a non-extradition country or; he has taken his son and he's the unsub we're looking for."

* * *

A/N: I hope it's not too jargon-heavy for those who don't particularly like police procedurals. I am having fun writing this, but have to be in a certain mindset to get it done because of the dark subject matter, so I apologise if I am not updating frequently. Thanks again!


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own the Walking Dead or Criminal Minds.

A/N: Thanks for the reviews and your patience; I hope a few of you are still following this. The dark nature of this fic has meant I had to be in a certain headspace to write it. I watched a few old episodes of Criminal Minds on the weekend, and they were really dark as well, so I guess I'm feeling a little inspired to continue without necessarily being in a dark mood myself (which is great for me). I wanted this chapter to focus a little more on the characters rather than the plot, so I won't talk about the case too much with this update; the mood is a little different as well, it's easier to read, I think. Anyways, here goes…

* * *

Warning: strong adult content; implied violence against children

"Rick? Are you okay?" Asked Michonne again, a little concerned by his detached appearance and the blank stare he wore. She leaned in closer, her eyes narrowing as he continued to stare off into space.

"Rick?" A little louder this time, which succeeded in dragging Rick Grimes out of his brief stupor, and back to the present where he was sitting at his desk in front of Michonne and Derek Morgan.

"Uh? Sorry, sorry. I was just thinkin' about somethin'; sorry." Came his tired, quiet reply.

Special Agent Morgan looked to a worried Michonne, then back to a distracted and almost sick looking Rick.

"Hey, man, maybe you should get some fresh air. You look a little pale." Said Morgan, taking in Rick's colourless appearance.

"It's okay. I'm okay. Just need a solid 8 hours sleep and to give my kids a hug." He offered, smiling weakly and sounding dejected and deflated.

Michonne looked sadly at her friend and colleague; this case was taking its toll on him and if he was not careful, it could be something that he might not come back from. In her time working for the justice system, Michonne had been a witness to many disturbing cases over the years; although admittedly, nothing as strange and horrific as the one at hand. She had seen numerous law enforcement officials forced to retire early because the stress of the job had been so overwhelming for them; had caused them grief and unnecessary ills. She knew Rick was a decent man, a fair man; a good cop who did his job well. She thought it would be a shame if he were forced to suffer because of the heavy burden that accompanied the duties that he assumed; the responsibility that he held. He was a kind and temperate man and she loathed to see that kindness sullied by such darkness. Michonne realized Rick was a resilient individual, but she also knew that sometimes, even the smallest, most miniscule touch of darkness could cause harm.

"No, Rick, Derek's right; you don't look so good." Michonne said, as she stood from where she was seated. Rick opened his mouth to protest whatever it was that he was certain she was going to suggest he do.

"Save it. I'm not taking no for an answer." She stated firmly and confidently. "Get up, we're goin' outside."

With that, Rick looked at SSA Morgan, who returned his glance with an amused shrug; Rick then shook his head in a manner that was no longer downcast and gave in to Michonne's command.

The bright sunlight was inexorable as it offended Rick's senses when he and Michonne stepped out of the back entrance of the station. He shielded his eyes with his hands, closed them completely and rubbed them vigorously for a moment. When he had become accustomed to the brightness, he glanced over at Michonne. He could tell she was worried about him; he knew how disheveled he looked and he knew she was probably right to be concerned. Rick was not coping well; not coping with the horrific nature of the case; not coping with the long hours and haunted, intermittent sleep; not coping with being away from his family; and not coping with the added strain that the long work hours were putting on his marriage.

The sun was warm and caused Michonne to unbutton the dark coloured jacket she had been wearing and remove it; she wore a sleeveless, white blouse underneath that suited her dark skin tone. Rick discreetly took in her appearance and admired her physique, she, focussing on folding the jacket and placing it neatly over her left forearm, had not noticed his attentions. Michonne took a seat on a bench, crossed her legs and stared at Rick who was leaning against the wall; she did not say anything, she just watched and waited. Rick used the back of his right hand to wipe his mouth then cleared his throat a little.

"God damn it, I felt like I was suffocating in there." He finally offered. "I'm dead on my feet, Michonne. Can't wait for this one to be over. I'm just plain tired."

She nodded, understanding what he was saying; how much it cost him to do what he did.

"I just wanted to thank you." He added.

Michonne's eyes widened, surprise taking hold of her.

"For what?" She asked, truly at a loss as to why he would need or want to offer her thanks.

"For everything. You've been a great support these past few months; it's been nice havin' someone to talk to. And you always ask how I'm holdin' up; you're always worried, and that's a nice thing, to have people 'round who care. Especially doin' this job; sometimes it just gets you down, ya know?"

"Well Rick, you are very important to this community; people care about you, don't you forget it. They see the job you've been doin' and they appreciate it. Appreciate you. Of course I've gotta worry about you, you're my friend." She said, and then added quietly. "I care about you."

They shared a silent, awkward smile just as SSA Morgan peered around the slightly ajar door and said: "Sorry to interrupt; Grimes, you have a visitor."

Michonne stood to go back inside. Rick held the door for her, and followed behind.

* * *

Lori Grimes grabbed the piece of paper that was attached to the humming refrigerator in her small kitchen. She had placed Judith in her stroller, fastened the clasp and shoved the crumpled shopping list into her handbag. Before she made her way to the front door, she remembered her intention to give Rick a call at work. She would see if there was anything he wanted while she was at the grocery store; as a way to make amends for their argument at breakfast. To offer an apology for the hurtful things she had said to him. She picked up the sleek, white cordless telephone receiver from where it hung fixed to the wall near the backdoor. She dialled the number to Rick's extension at the Sheriff's Department; she listened impatiently to the dial tone and became slightly annoyed that the call had went to voicemail. She had found it difficult to connect with her husband on many different levels as of late; she sometimes felt as if he were avoiding her, although she reasoned that she could not blame him. She realized that when Rick was around, she always found some way to pick a fight with him. Lori sighed loudly, ended the call, then proceeded to dial the number to Rick's cell phone; she heard it ringing, barely noticeable, in the living room.

Lori, upon entering the living room, found Rick's phone sitting atop the cabinet; it vibrated as the missed call notification came through. She picked it up and decided quickly that she would take it down to him at the station. In that moment, a realization and sense of suspicion encompassed her; she had her husband's phone, she could easily pry in an attempt to discover if he were keeping secrets from her. If he was really working late; if he really was as busy as he had let on. Lori unlocked Rick's phone and scrolled until she came across the text message icon. She stopped and felt a small ounce of guilt overcome her for going through his phone; for not trusting him. As recently as that very morning, Lori had wondered if there was someone else in Rick's life; another woman. Some other woman who had stolen his attentions away from their family and from her. She let out another audible sigh, gave into temptation and clicked on the message icon where, only moments before, her missed call notification had come through.

Lori squinted at the small screen and used her index finger to scroll to the bottom of the message inbox. She found several missed call notifications; a few voicemail messages; texts from Shane, texts from Rick's brother Jeffrey, texts from a few other guys he worked with, Lori herself and Michonne. _Michonne. _That piqued her interest. She knew who she was, but knew very little about the woman, actually. She knew she was an attorney, had lived in the area for a short while, although she had family members who had lived there much longer. She worked at the courthouse, Lori had seen her at the Sheriff's Department Christmas party, she was unmarried, wore her dresses way too short and way too tight and they sometimes said hello to each other at the grocery store. She knew that the woman sometimes worked with her husband, what she did not know was that they were friendly enough to send each other text messages; and by the looks of the time stamps, at unusual times of the day and night.

Now Lori felt really annoyed as she read their messages to one another. She was becoming agitated; here was this woman telling _her_ husband that _she_ was there for him if _he _needed to talk, and not just one time either, there were several messages in which she had said it. Here was Rick asking her for advice, for favours, showing her his appreciation and, to Lori's further displeasure, responding to her instantaneously. Rick did not ignore this _Michonne_ the same way that he continually ignored Lori, so she thought; no, he sought her out and made time for her. Lori was livid. She stomped back into the kitchen, placed Rick's phone in her bag, pushed Judith's stroller through the living room and headed outside.

"Hello, Cheryl." Said Lori to the woman in her mid-forties who worked the reception desk at the King County Sheriff's Department. The woman greeted Lori a friendly manner, spoke to Judith in baby-talk and asked the younger woman if she was looking for her husband. Once it was confirmed that she was indeed there to see Rick Grimes, Cheryl proceeded to walk Lori around to his desk where Derek Morgan was sitting and reading through what appeared to be case files. Lori noticed the pile of case files spread wide and stacked high on Rick's desk. There was a coffee mug that was half empty and had long since cooled; the man, obviously FBI, did not look up from what he was doing until Lori brought Judith's stroller to a stop and sat down in her husband's chair.

The corridor was dimly lit, unadorned, narrow and long; as Rick and Michonne walked side-by-side, their shoulders and arms awkwardly came in contact. Michonne discreetly observed his appearance; the fresh air had left him looking better. He seemed less tense and his face relaxed ever so slightly. As they both stepped back into the common staff area, Michonne said quietly:

"You look much better now." As she smiled at him widely, eliciting from Rick a bright smile of his own.

As he tore his gaze away from Michonne, he noticed a stern-faced Lori seated at his desk, barely hiding a scowl.

_Great,_ he thought as he took in his wife's obviously annoyed countenance, _now what have I done?_

* * *

A/N: Sorry this one was short. Next chapter will get back to the mystery of the murdered children, as well as what's happening with the boy who is still missing; but not until someone makes a scene (maybe)! Lol Seriously, my friend who _hates_ Lori said that she actually felt sorry for her for having an absentee husband; she gave me some insights into how a married woman sometimes behaves in that situation, so I have a few options to run with now when elaborating on their 'bad marriage'. In a way, I have based Lori on Hayley (Hotch's wife from Criminal Minds for those who are familiar with the show); married young to a man who is all about the job, and was always about the job. Anyways, thanks for sticking with me if you've made it this far!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Sorry I've left this for so long, but I needed to be in certain mindset to get the ideas down. Thanks** KyannaLashae** for kicking my bottom and asking about this fic!

trtlsoup2001: Thank you. I'm definitely continuing this and I'm glad you've been enjoying it.

Lyra Verse: Good ol' Lori lol and I know what you mean about not wanting to see things from her perspective; I always find it weird writing her for that reason. I do want to understand her though, even if I feel she's always been there so that we can view Rick in a certain way.

Soul93: Thank you so much. Crossovers are not the easiest stories to write, especially with two completely different shows, so I appreciate your vote of confidence.

Recap: The BAU have given the profile of the killer; Hotch is entertaining the idea that Duane's abduction may not be linked to the other children; and Lori is pissed at Rick and currently at the Station. Oh, and we finally get a peek into the life of the killer.

**Warning**: strong adult content; implied violence against children

* * *

Lori's annoyance rose while she watched her seemingly unresponsive husband draw nearer as she sat at his desk with their daughter. He was walking with _her_, with Michonne. They were smiling at each other as if there were nothing wrong; as if they had not a care in the world. Rick's happy visage fell away when he noticed his wife.

Lori stood from where she was seated and strolled toward Rick and Michonne and was met with a cordial _hello_ from her husband; she did not answer. Michonne, picking up on the tension, looked around awkwardly before her eyes fell on Derek Morgan. She excused herself and walked toward the Agent quickly; Lori threw her a look of disdain before meeting Rick's eyes once more.

"What are you doin' here?"

Rick queried, somewhat surprised to find his wife at his workplace. It was not that she had never visited before, because she had; but rather, that she was seeking him out for something. Their relationship had become so strained that neither went out of their way for the other in recent times. They only tried to be civil with one another when the children were present; at other times Rick was absent. He was always busy with work, and now, to Lori, it seemed there was another reason he spent so much time at the station.

"It's like you're deliberately tryin' you piss me off, Rick." She said in hushed tones, throwing Michonne a stern look.

"What are ya talkin' about now?" He replied with uncertainty, then following his wife's gaze to where Michonne and the Agent stood speaking to one another.

"I brought your phone, which you left at home…"

"Thanks." He interjected.

"Oh, don't bother thanking me. You don't have time to do that. You don't have time for me or your kids, but I see you have time to be out the back of the station takin' little breaks. Glad to see you're doin' you best to find that missing kid, Rick." She said mockingly, her voice getting louder.

Rick finally knew what she was implying; his wife had seen him smiling with Michonne and got the wrong impression.

"Lori, I don't have time to argue with you right now; this really ain't the time or place."

"Well when is the right time, Rick?" She asked, somewhat louder than before.

"Hey." He started. "Can you please keep your voice down?"

Lori rolled her eyes and then threw the phone in his direction, he caught it against his chest; by the time he looked up, his wife was walking away with their daughter.

"Lori? Where are you goin' now?" Rick asked quietly, aware of the eyes that were on them and the ears that had tuned into their exchange.

She looked back at him.

"I'm goin' home, Rick. Remember where that is?" She said before turning and heading straight for the exit.

Rick sighed, closed his eyes and shook his head; he did not go after her.

* * *

Rick avoided speaking with anyone for some time after Lori had left; he went back to his desk and combed through the stack of files. Everyone around him seemed to be moving slowly and their voices were muffled. He noticed that Michonne had gone and the pounding in his head was returning. He dropped his head and kept reading over the document he had in his grasp.

"Deputy?" Came a voice from next to Rick; it was SSA Hotchner.

Rick placed the file down that he was holding and looked up to where Hotch stood.

"Yeah, what's goin' on?" Rick asked, gesturing for the Agent to take a seat; Hotch unbuttoned his suit jacket, took a seat and then began to speak to Rick.

"Would it be too much trouble if I asked you and one of my Agents to go and speak to some of the people from the religious sector of the community?" He asked evenly, with an air of authority that was not condescending.

"Are we gonna follow leads within the church?" Rick asked in reply.

"Yes. Given the nature of the writing we found, we need to look at the church community. Now, while we don't think the unsub will be overtly religious, there is a link to religion there. I've had to reshuffle some of my Agents, and I don't want Reid going to do the interviews alone. Would you mind taking the lead with the church community for now?" Hotch queried.

"That's no trouble at all." Rick answered. "What will we be lookin' for?"

* * *

_Unknown location, some time ago…_

The small room was painfully bare, save for the tiny bed, rickety chair standing purposelessly in the corner and the plain, wooden crucifix that hung on the wall, slanted crookedly to the right. The Man had woken early that morning, while the sun itself still slumbered out of the sight of humanity; he was drenched in a sheen of sweat and the light pounding in his head subsided only when the sharp ringing in his ears caused it to yield. _Dreams_. His sleep was filled with dreams and visions; none of which he could decipher while amidst the hazy spectacle. But now, as he sat on the edge of his single bed, it became clear; he was _chosen_.

The Man had always been a law abiding citizen within his home community; he had always tried to be righteous within his church community. Yet, just when he needed those around him to do right by him; just when he needed some justice of his own, he was forsaken. He was left to weather the storm of his own demise alone. At least, that is what he thought he was left to do, until he realized that those who had spoken with deceitful tongues were not his friends at all. They were sent to test him; to test his faith; and he would not shy away from them. Even though his heart was weighed down from a profoundly heavy sadness, a sadness that caused his tears to flow seemingly without reason; a sadness that caused his chest to tighten and his breath to escape weakly; even though he was sad, he would face the world still. For he was _chosen_.

If the Lord had brought forth the ones who spoke with forked-tongues and set about to use their talents to beguile those of weak will, he would not falter. For now, in the dim light of the early morning, all had become clear. He knew what he must do. The words echoed inside of his mind loudly, as if there were no other thoughts in there that could counter the resounding and firm order:

_For I have chosen him, that he may command his children and his household after him to keep the way of the Lord by doing righteousness and justice…_

He had chosen him and confirmed his righteousness for all to see; He had spoken the command into his dreams and it filtered down into his chest and drove itself into his very soul; He had given his clarity and a guiding light. His children and his household would keep the way of the Lord, they would transcend their Earthly barriers and be at His right hand to carry the teachings to a new era; righteousness and justice would prevail. His Lord had given his only Son so that man could have salvation and eternal life; now he would send the sons of men to meet their True Father.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading!

Sorry it was short; now that's out of the way, we can focus on the case more (although there's bound to be more Richonne moments and Lorick drama).

Do you think their investigation is headed in the right direction? Should Rick be slowing down a bit before he burns out? Should Michonne stay away from Rick for a while? One thing is certain, in my mind's eye, Hotch is wearing the Hell outta his suit!

More to come…


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